


la batalla de los platelmintos

by guineaDogs



Category: South Park
Genre: Fencing, High Fantasy, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Tweek, Penis Fencing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 15:01:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21038135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guineaDogs/pseuds/guineaDogs
Summary: Tweek is unable to decide whether to choose Craig or Stan as a suitor. Craig and Stan take to the arena with the understanding that the winner gains Tweek's affections.





	la batalla de los platelmintos

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hanamachi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hanamachi/gifts).

> I started this months ago, but I finally finished it and have absolutely no regrets.  
You can find me on tumblr @ thaumatroping or twitter @ guineaDogs

In the land of Westeroast, matters of the heart were not discussed through prose or limerick. Rather, a duel in King Richard's arena was where the noblest of potential paramours fought for the affection of the king's only begotten child: Tweek. Heir to the throne and all of Westeroast, Tweek preferred the title  _ prinx,  _ which was unorthodox and led to the royal scholars questioning the legitimacy of succession. But Tweek was relentless, and that sheer insistence outweighed everything else.

Still, the need for a suitor was essential, even if it was a union that did not, or  _ could _ not, result in procreation. Some traditions had to be held onto, no matter what.

Fortunately, there was no shortage of suitors. Unfortunately, that was exactly the problem. Tweek had two perfectly good potential suitors that they couldn’t choose between despite their efforts. First, there was Craig. He was tall with blue eyes and black hair. His skin was pale, his muscles well-defined. Really, he was a top specimen. His voice a little nasally, and he didn’t talk a lot, but that was refreshing when he had to listen to his father ramble on so much with nonsensical metaphors. 

But then there was Stan. Sweet, kind Stan. He was tall with blue eyes and black hair. His skin was bronze from his years working on a farm before he ascended to the role of knight, his muscles well-defined. He was also a top specimen. His voice was soft and sweet, and reminded Tweek of molasses on a fresh buttermilk biscuit. He didn’t always have much to say, but he was always happen to listen.

There was also Kyle, who wasn’t a potential suitor so much as one of the most important people in Tweek’s life. He wasn’t nearly as tall, not nearly as muscular but he was as smart as a whip and was the best companion Tweek had ever had. His wild curls were like a sunset, almost always tied back with the same worn strip of leather and he had a temper like fire powder. But he was sincere, and Tweek could always rely upon him. 

“If you were me, who would you choose?” Tweek asked him as they sat on the balcony that overlooked the vineyards of Westeroast. 

Kyle looked over at them, brows knit and lips pursed. “I’m not you, and I can’t make that decision for you.” 

Tweek’s nostrils flared as they sighed. Of course Kyle would play semantics when they needed advice the most. “Fine, you as you. You had to pick. Who would it be? Stan, or Craig?” Tweek noticed the way Kyle’s cheeks flushed at the end there, quickly turning away to overlook the valley instead of providing any sort of answer. The way Kyle’s shoulders hunched, Tweek knew they weren’t getting one. “I guess I’ll have to leave it to fate.”

* * *

“I hope I win,” Stan said, his words slurred as he drank his ale. He set the stein down and rested his elbows on the table as he peered over at his friend. “Even better if I didn’t have to do it at all, and still win. Do you think I have a chance for that?”

His friend sighed. “Do you think I would willingly get involved in this at all? That’s not happening.”

“C’mon, Kyle, Tweek hasn’t said anything? They’re not any closer to making a choice? Don’t leave me hanging.”

Kyle made a strangled, frustrated sound. “Tweek likes you. They like you a lot. They just also like Craig, too, so they’re relying on tradition to make that choice for them. You’re just going to have to try hard, and if you’re lucky, maybe you’ll get the outcome you want.”

“Guess I can’t convince you to dissuade Craig, huh.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “You’re going to have to fight your own battles, Stan.”

* * *

“You’re going to go through with it?” 

Craig looked over his shoulder as he polished his weapon to see Kyle leaning against the doorway of the armory. With Kyle being what amounted to Tweek’s most trusted advisor and confidant, and Craig part of the prinx’s guard like Stan, it wasn’t uncommon for them to interact; Kyle often served as a liaison, after all. Even outside of that, their interactions were pleasant. 

“I plan on it. Unless something has changed?”

Kyle shook his head. “Tweek is still undecided in who they would choose. Stan is also not inclined to withdraw so it’ll continue as planned, then.” 

“Is that a problem?” It  _ shouldn’t _ have been. As prinx, Tweek had their choice of suitors, and while Craig had the option to decline the consideration, he wasn’t going to turn down an opportunity to raise his station. It was basic economics. But there was something about Kyle’s impassive expression that he couldn’t quite place.

Kyle straightened his posture, clicking his tongue. “It’s not something that I would personally want to follow through with. Fortunately, I’m not the one setting myself up for that sort of spectacle.” 

* * *

Kyle wasn’t wrong. It  _ was _ a spectacle. Other matters may have been settled with a joust, or with careful negotiations. But matters of the heart, that of sex and love and more… those sorts of things left one feeling raw and exposed. Allowing oneself to be vulnerable with another was one of the most beautiful things the world had to offer.

Which was why things were done this way. 

The morning sun crested over the horizon. The dew on the blades of grass had yet to even dry when the event began, with invitees filling the seats in the arena. King Richard took his seat on the shaded throne that oversaw the arena. Tweek’s spot was in the vicinity, along with those of their closest companions. 

They sat, eyes trained on the grassy arena below as the two competitors entered from opposite ends of the arena, wearing naught for their birthing attire. Almost in unison, the two approached the center of the arena. When they were about six paces apart, they stopped and looked up to their king.

It was then that good ole King Dick arose, and although he was not equipped with a microphone or a loudspeaker of any kind, he was able to speak loudly and clearly to all who needed to hear him. “Friends, compatriots, there are few things better than a fresh cup of coffee. The morning dew cannot beat the morning brew—” Tweek was the only one who audibly groaned. “—but as a father, seeing your child age and grow, to see their suitors battle for their hand… why, that’s almost as good as ristretto. Tweek, it is time for the inaugural strokes.”

Tweek rose from their seat at that point, taking step by step down until they reached the ground level. Stepping off the platform entirely and entering the arena, they kept walking to stand between their two potential suitors. “With these two hands,” they said, reciting the phrase that was always used for these sorts of situations. “I will initiate this time-held, time and true ritual. The winner of this battle will rise above their present station to that of suitor of the prinx, to eventually become spouse of the prinx should both parties still consent to the arrangement when the time comes.”

Their hands were sweaty, and it was hard to ignore the palpitations in their chest. But soon, this would begin, and so it would end, and this indecision would stop hanging above them. “Stan. Craig. Your penises, please,” Tweek said with outstretched hands.

The men stepped closer, each depositing their flaccid members into Tweek’s palms. They wrapped their long fingers around each penis, stroking until the penises were stiff and engorged, ready to be used in this battle of matters of the heart. When Tweek felt that they were sufficiently hard, they walked away, returning to their seat.

It was only then that the battle began.

Stan and Craig held their arms akimbo, standing close as they twisted and gyrated their hips. Their erect penises smacked against the other. They groaned when a particular penile smack hit harder than the rest. Per the rules of the game, they could not use their other appendages in battle, but the first to fall onto the ground lost.

Competitive in nature, neither of them wanted wanted to lose. Craig vigorously thrusted his hips, jabbing Stan in the stomach with the head of his long, rockhard penis. Stan staggered back with a grimace, but he didn’t lose his footing. 

And so the battle continued. The crowds cheered. The attendees may have had their favorites, but Tweek didn’t. They sat at the edge of their seat, chewing at their fingernails as they watched Stan and Craig circle about, jabbing and smacking one another furiously. How long this could go on, Tweek had no idea, but they hoped it would end soon. 

Stan and Craig’s breaths became ragged, beads of sweat formed all over their bodies. Between that, the repetitive smashing of grass underfoot and the dew that had yet to evaporate, the ground became slick and their balances more unsteady. When they both fell, it was hard to determine who fell first—and it was even harder as they didn’t stop their bout there. Craig was on top, still seemingly trying to jab at Stan with his dick. But Stan wasn’t down for the count either, and returned the motions in kind, even upending Craig and—

The trumpets sounded, calling them off. 

King Richard looked at his child at that moment. “It seems inconclusive from my view. You must decide for yourself.”

Tweek bit the inside of their cheek, gaze trained on the men in the arena, who were now dusting themselves off, bruises forming and grass staining their skin. “ _ Kuh _ —” Tweek paused, glancing over at their companion who sat rigidly, focus unwavering on the scene below. “Stan. I choose Stan.”

They felt Kyle look at them then, brows knit in confusion as Tweek rose to their feet. They gave Kyle a smile, one they hoped he would understand, and made their way back down the steps to the arena.

Face to face with Stan, Tweek brushed a blade of grass from his hair and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “If you’ll have me, I would love for you to be my paramour.” 

“I accept,” Stan replied, face flushing.

Tweek turned his attention to Craig, who stood off to the side, whatever he felt right then not quite readable. “And I know someone you might get on quite well with, if you’re willing to take my suggestion.” 

But Tweek didn’t need Craig to respond; he was already looking up in the stadium, in the direction of a certain redhead.


End file.
